


Tough Love

by owlaholic68



Category: Monster of the Week (Tabletop RPG), Original Work
Genre: Caning, Chastity Device, Collars, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Heavy BDSM, Immortality, Jacques is a demon so he is a rough rough dom, M/M, Orgasm Control, Panic Attacks, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Roleplay, Social Anxiety, Spanking, Swearing, also he makes James wear a sexy maid outfit at one point so if you want that, if you are one of my players maybe don't read this, just jacques somehow helping James with his anxiety using BDSM techniques, there is nothing plot-related in this at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22603561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: James has always been anxious, but now he’s so much worse. Jacques helps in an unorthodox way.
Relationships: James/Jacques, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 25





	Tough Love

An intimate night out to the movies.

James and Jacques had been going to the same theatre for over a hundred years now – first a theatre for plays and operas, then turned into a movie venue.

The movie doesn’t matter; it never matters. It’s the experience that it is important. They always dress up a little, even if it’s just changing clothes or making Jacques try to comb his hair.

Routine is calming for James. They’re good at routine.

The theatre is dark and quiet, nearly empty. An older couple (younger, technically) are sitting up front chatting about the travel documentary they’re watching. Egypt, maybe – James isn’t paying attention.

“Stop it,” he hisses to Jacques, who just put his hand _right_ down James’ pants. “Are you crazy?”

“Nobody will notice,” Jacques whispers back. “Relax, sweetheart.”

“Relax?” James frantically checks to make sure nobody can see them. But they’re up at the top, all alone in the dark. _“Relax?_ J-Jacques, we’re in public, for Hell’s sake, do you really have a mind to do this _now?”_

Jacques kisses the corner of his mouth, then down to his chin. “Dear…”

“Don’t _dear_ me, you horny teenager.”

“Aww, you’re such a prude…” Jacques relents and puts his hand back in an appropriate place. “Fine. Only because I love you.”

“Hmph.” James turns back to the movie. “Th-Thank you.”

His demonic darling doesn’t turn back to the screen, instead standing and plopping down in James’ lap.

“Hey!” James yelps.

“Shh!” Jacques slaps a hand over his mouth.

Panic. Immediate panic spiking out of nowhere. James grabs at Jacques’ hand and yanks it away so he can breathe – no, hyperventilate.

Jacques must see something in his face, because he immediately gets off, down to his knees in front of James. Takes his hands and holds them. “Dear, dear-”

“I’m sorry, I – I’m sorry, I don’t know-” James doesn’t even know what he’s saying or why, he’s just freaking the fuck out for no apparent reason and he can’t – he can’t stop and –

And he’s out of the movie theatre. Jacques steers him into a quiet corner of the lobby and sets him down on a bench, keeping a firm arm around his waist.

“Breathe in,” he quietly instructs. “Breathe out, breathe in – good, dear, that’s better, it’s fine.” He drapes James’ coat over his shoulders. “May I touch your face? Not your mouth, just your eyes.”

James nods. Jacques takes out one of James’ handkerchiefs and dabs at his eyes. He’s crying and normally he knows why but he doesn’t know, he has no idea.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Jacques keeps asking now that James is breathing again, albeit still stuttered and uneven. “Sweetie, please talk to me, you – you panicked out of nowhere and that scared me a lot. Do – do you know why?”

“N-No. I – I don’t know, I don’t know…”

“Was it me sitting on you? Or being inappropriate and making you uncomfortable? Or – or touching your mouth?”

“Y-Yeah, I guess it was that?” James touches his own mouth. “I don’t know why, I don’t know-”

“Hey, hey-” Jacques coos and brings him back from more panic. “Dear, it’s okay, it’s okay. You – you’ve never had a problem with me touching or covering your mouth before. Did something happen? Is everything okay?”

James thinks. Nothing immediately comes to mind.

Except for-

“William,” he sobs. Buries his head in Jacques’ warm shoulder. “Oh dear, W-William covered my mouth when he – when he hurt me a couple of weeks ago and – and I guess, well, he – it scared me-”

Jacques hugs him tight. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he repeats. “Fuck, darling…”

He sniffles and James’ heart snaps right in two.

“I – I’m _sorry-”_

“No, no, not sorry, don’t be sorry.” Jacques’ voice hardens. _“You_ have nothing to be sorry for. We had no way of knowing – _you_ had no way of knowing that was going to be a problem for you.” He sighs and raises one hand to quickly wipe under his own eyes. James pretends he didn’t see that. “Fuck, _fuck,_ if I didn’t hate that bastard before, I will make him _pay_ for this-”

He sees that his anger isn’t helping and lets it go. He sighs again. “Right. Sorry. Have to take care of you first. Let’s just go home, okay? Do you want to go home?”

James shrugs. “I want to be okay.” His voice tremors. “I don’t want to be like this anymore. I don’t – I don’t want to be scared of stupid stuff and I don’t want to have a b-breakdown every time something little happens and I _hate_ this-”

Jacques rubs his shoulders and coos some more. Almost a demonic purr. “We’ll work on it,” he promises. “I’ll help. I’ll always help you. I’ll make it all better, all better, all better-” He kisses James and eases the hysterical edge in his chest. “Let’s go home.”

“O-Okay.” James wipes his eyes one last time before shakily standing with Jacques’ help. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

Home makes James sink.

He hides. He hides from the world, from Jacques, from himself.

“You’re a mess,” Jacques finally snaps. He crosses his arms and stands over James, who tries to bury his head in his book. “Avoiding this isn’t improving anything. You need to face your problems, James!”

“Stop it,” he whines. “I don’t want to.”

Jacques grabs his arm and yanks away his book, throwing it across the room. “You have to!” He yells.

“Stop it!” James yells back. “You’re being _mean!”_

“No I’m not!” Jacques pulls him up. “I’m being practical and I’m being fucking _honest,_ sweetheart! You have anxiety and if you don’t do shit about it, it’s just going to get worse! It’s already gotten worse and you know it!”

James pushes him away. His heart is pounding. They haven’t properly fought in ages, it feels. “I don’t want to fight with you. L-Leave me alone, I’m dealing with it fine!”

“No.” Jacques sets his jaw. “I’ve let you deflect from this for too long. That ends _now,_ you hear?” He grabs James’ hand and laces their fingers together. “This. Ends. Now. I promise to work with you. You helped me with – with anger and blowing up at people, I can help you with this. Let me help with this.”

Tears well up in James’ eyes and he can’t stop them, he can never stop them. _Crybaby, crybaby,_ William’s voice taunts him in his head.

Jacques sighs and squeezes his hand. He looks down and to the side, clearly wavering. Then he shakes his head and squares his shoulders. “Go ahead and cry,” he mutters. Half to himself. “It’s not going to help you.”

Despite his harsh words, he still hugs James and lets him cry into his shoulder. Cry until he’s spent, dry and drowsy. Jacques leaves for a moment and comes back with a glass of water, which he makes James down.

“James.” He looks serious. “Listen to me.”

James wipes his cheek with the heel of his hand. He nods. “I’m listening.”

Jacques looks briefly upset. “I’ve never had to do this before. I don’t like to be rough with you. I want you to be happy. And we’re going to work on that, I _promise,_ we’re going to work. But while we’re working…” He trails off and clears his throat. “I’m punishing you.”

“Wh-What?” James sits up straighter. Jacques has _never_ punished him before, not seriously. Not saying so beforehand.

“That’s right.” Jacques smiles. “I won’t be too mean, sweetheart, but I think this will help. And if it’s not helping, if it’s hurting, you _must_ tell me right away, okay?”

“Y-Yes, Jacques.” James doesn’t know what to say, what to do. Punished… “F-For how long?”

“Until I think you’ve learned your lesson. You need to take care of yourself. You _need_ to get better, and you’re not going to do it unless I force you to do it. So things are going to change, but they’re going to _help,_ I promise. Do you trust me?”

“Yes, Jacques.” James forces a very shaky smile that quickly fades. “Yes. I trust you.”

“Good. Let me tell you your punishment, then.”

* * *

They’re almost out of milk and Jacques like milk in his coffee.

 _The roads are icy,_ James tells himself. A small spike of anxiety hits his gut. _But I need to go to the store – but the roads – but the store – and there will be crowds because it’s a weekend and –_

Stop. He needs to stop worrying. He winces; an hour into the first morning of his punishment and he’s already not doing great. With his left hand he gently tugs on a golden chain leash. That leash is attached to an ornate black and oxblood-red leather and lace collar around his neck. With his right hand, he fishes a small notepad from his pocket.

 _Anxious about going to the store,_ he writes down. Tugs on the collar again. Stows the notebook and goes about the rest of his morning preparations.

“Good morning, darling.” Jacques comes into the kitchen and gratefully accepts a cup of coffee.

“G-Good morning, dear.” James takes his cup of tea and, instead of sitting in his normal chair, sits in Jacques’ lap instead. Jacques winds the end of the leash around his hand. Not pulling, just possessive.

They drink their preferred morning beverages in silence. Jacques scrolls through James’ phone, keeping the screen angled so they can both see.

“I feel awkward sitting like this,” James blurts. He blushes, but discipline is supposed to be uncomfortable. _Voice a negative thought the moment you have it,_ Jacques had ordered. _Otherwise I don’t know how you’re feeling. Write them down if I’m not around._ “My legs are too long.”

Jacques laughs. Despite himself, James chuckles too.

“It’ll probably be easier on the couch,” Jacques points out. “Our kitchen chairs weren’t really meant for this.” He strokes James’ arm. “Good boy. What are you going to do today?”

 _Think before you speak and you’ll stutter less._ James takes a deep breath and tries to think. “I don’t know,” he slowly says. “I need to go to the store at some point today.” More anxiety. “I – I’m anxious about it because of the roads and – and because it’s Saturday and there will be a lot of people.”

“Okay. What are you going to do about that anxiety?”

“I don’t know-”

A gentle tug on the collar. “Think,” Jacques warns.

He’d originally balked at the idea of wearing a collar, but it’s starting to grow on him. Physical reminders have always been effective at snapping him out of anxious patterns.

“I – I-” He takes another set of deep breaths. Closes his eyes for a moment. He’s being punished because he had lapsed in anxiety coping strategies, but he _did_ used to have some. “The car isn’t good on these roads, so – so I’ll walk instead. And I’ll make a list so I stay on track at the store.” He nods to himself. “That is what I will do. It’s warm enough to walk and we don’t need much.”

“Good boy,” Jacques purrs, and kisses him. “I’ll be waiting when you get home.”

That incentive makes James fly through his shopping trip, hardly noticing or caring about the noise or the people or the walk. He keeps a scarf wound high up on his neck to hide the collar, though Jacques said he could take it off if going out in public.

He walks up to the house at the same time as the mail carrier.

“Mr. Revel? A package for you.”

“Oh, thank you.” James balances the groceries in his arms and takes the small box. He looks it over while he dumps the bags in the kitchen. He had assumed it was addressed to Jacques, but it was actually for James.

“Dear, I’m home! Did you order something for me?” He calls out. He gets no response. “D-Dear?”

Oh, there’s a note on the fridge. _Lucy needed me, will be out for an hour or so,_ the note says.

Odd, but James shrugs and fetches a knife to open the small box. Jacques would let him know in advance if he’d ordered a gift that he wanted to keep secret, so there’s no harm in opening the package without Jacques here. There’s no label saying where it came from, and there are layers and layers of packaging to sift through. Surprisingly heavy box despite the size and amount of packing paper.

Ah, finally found something. James takes out a small object that fits in his hand. Heavy, metal, and wrapped even more. Now deeply curious, he unwraps it and almost drops it.

He calls Jacques immediately.

“Hi dear!”

“Is – is this for _me_ to wear? D-Do you want me to put this on right away?” James squeaks.

“Oh, you must have gotten the thing I ordered!” Jacques sounds smug and pleased. “Wow, that fast shipping option is really something else! How do they do that? Magic?” He clears his throat. “But no, dear, you can wait until I come home. We’re almost done here so I’ll probably be back in fifteen, twenty minutes. That okay?”

“Yes, Jacques.” James swallows hard and puts the gift – it was a gift, wasn’t it? – aside. “I love you.”

“Love you too!” Jacques chirps and hangs up.

 _How do you feel about chastity cages?_ Jacques had asked.

 _They’re okay, I guess._ James had shrugged. _I’d wear one, but I don’t really see the appeal. Are you – are you interested in one?_

 _Maybe._ Jacques had shrugged it off too. _Might be fun. Just an idea._

Just an idea. Yeah, right. James sets it aside. He paces and tries to forget about it. He can’t forget about it.

He’s starting to breathe faster. Why is he worried? He stops pacing and sits down on the couch, grabbing the end of the leash between his fingers and gently pulling on it until he remembers how to breathe normally. Slow and calm. He’s alright, nothing to be anxious about. He trusts Jacques. Jacques will take care of him – no, Jacques will help him take care of himself.

“I’m home!” Jacques declares. Fifteen minutes went by fast. James meets him at the door for a greeting kiss. Jacques slips two fingers under the soft leather collar and tugs him close. “How was the store?”

“It was fine.” James smiles. “It was a nice walk.”

“Good boy. Now come on. Bedroom.”

“Yes, Jacques.” James trots at his heels and climbs into Jacques’ lap when he sits down onto the bed.

Jacques unbuttons James’ pants and slides them down. As instructed, James is wearing no underwear.

“Rules,” Jacques says while he lubes up the cage and starts working it onto James. “You may touch yourself as much as you’d like, for all the good it’ll do. You may finish _only_ when I say you can, or else.” He locks the small padlock and has James raise his chin, tying the small key to one of the loops of the collar. “I’ll unlock you if you’re good. I’ll unlock you and ride you if you’re _really_ good. And if you’re bad…” he trails off.

“Yes, Jacques.” James blushes. “I understand.”

“Good. Be on your way, now.” Jacques pushes him up. “And leave your pants off, I like the view.” He smacks James’ ass. Not hard, but firm.

James squeaks. “Y-Yes, Jacques.” He stops just in front of the door. “Jacques, I – I-”

“Yes?” Jacques frowns. “Dear, think about what you want to say.”

Right. Right. James tries to take a deep breath, but now he’s all embarrassed and put on the spot and he – he can’t-

“James,” Jacques warns.

Coping. He needs to deal with this himself. James closes his eyes and clenches his fists. Once, twice, until he can feel his fingernails biting into his palms.

“I – I just wanted to ask you something,” he manages.

“Go ahead.” Jacques is watching him closely. Watching him struggle with this.

Nope. Nope, nope, too much-

“Never mind!” James blurts. “It’s embarrassing!”

“No. Bad! You’re avoiding.” He snaps his fingers. “Down.”

James’ eyes well up with tears. He kneels on the floor, his bare knees on the carpet. _I’m sorry,_ he wants to say, but he’s not allowed to apologize.

“What am I to do with you...” Jacques stands and paces in front of him. “You were doing so well earlier. And now look, you’re tearful over nothing. _This_ is what I’m talking about. I’m not going to let you backslide, I’m not going to let you get away with avoiding, and I sure as _Hell_ am not going to let you cry your way out of a tough situation again.” He raises a bare foot and nudges James’ new bodily ornamentation with his toe.

James whimpers. He’s not allowed to wipe his eyes or face while crying, so he has to kneel there with tears rolling down his cheeks and he doesn’t know what to do.

Jacques holds out a hand. James shakily takes the end of the leash and puts it in his demanding hand.

“Talk,” he orders, and tugs hard on the chain, abrupt enough that James almost topples forward. “Whatever the fuck you were anxious about earlier, you need to push past it and get it out of your system.” He keeps constant pressure on the collar and James’ world narrows to just that, to just him and his voice and his stern hand. “Tell me what you were going to say before. You said it was embarrassing. I don’t care. Say it.”

“I like it when you spank me!” James blurts. “It’s humiliating! I hate it because I think I’m supposed to hate it and I hate pain, but I like it and I wanted to ask you to do it again as a punishment.” He sniffles. Now that he says it aloud, it does seem kind of pathetic to be so anxious about that. He’s asked Jacques to do more embarrassing things. “I – I was anxious because I didn’t understand how I felt about it. And – and not knowing scared me. A lot. I was scared of your reaction, I was scared you – you’d think I was a freak or something, I don’t know. But I – I shouldn’t have been anxious about it because I t-trust you.”

Jacques glares down at him. “Hmph. Well, no better time to try it then the present. Up.” He sits back on the bed and pats his lap. “Bend over.”

Face burning, James obeys. His bare ass in the air and his face in the quilt. His cage rubbing against the roughness of his lover’s jeans.

“Count aloud,” Jacques orders. “I’ll be going easy on you. This time. Just five.”

James yelps and twists at the very first one. Five very _hard_ smacks. “One,” he belatedly says.

Two is even worse. Three makes his voice shake. He bucks at four, struggling against Jacques’ iron grip on the back of his neck.

“If you don’t count I’ll have to start over,” Jacques threatens. He rubs his hand against where he just hit, lighting up that area with odd pleasure-pain.

“F-Four.”

“Good boy.”

“Five!” He cries. He’s breathing heavy but strong, slow. Jacques presses a gentle kiss to his reddened skin.

“Up,” he orders. “Let me kiss you.”

Jacques wipes away his tears with calloused fingers, but he’s gentle. James gets himself together in record time to kiss him back.

“Check in, dear.”

“Green.” James is too quiet. “Green,” he repeats at Jacques’ stern look, louder.

“Hm. You may go about your day now. I expect progress today, James.”

“Yes, Jacques.”

Progress. He’ll try.

He didn’t try hard enough. Day One earned him a frustrating session of Jacques teasing and teasing and not even unlocking him. Jacques was disappointed in him, even though he admitted that it was just the first day.

James will do better tomorrow. He _will._

* * *

Day Two was better, but still not good.

“Mediocrity does not satisfy me,” Jacques had rumbled while stroking James so soft and slow he’d nearly cried, and he did shed a tear or two when Jacques locked him back up again, frustrated and still hard. “Better but still not progress.”

* * *

Subspace is a good place to be. It’s warm and soft and nothing is bad.

James discovers a new space: the moment when he’s bent over Jacques’ knee on the couch and Jacques pauses between one harsh spank and another, when he purrs and calls James a good boy or orders him to count or rubs his hand over his skin. It’s an odd space, but it takes away everything else in the world.

“Fine then, I’m starting over again,” Jacques declares. “You’re being a fucking brat.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” James breaks off into a sob. “One!”

“Don’t apologize!” Jacques snaps. He delivers another cruel smack that makes James flinch and wail. Then two more in quick succession. James can hardly keep up with the numbers.

He makes him wait for the last one. “Five” falls from James’ lips dripping with relief. He moves to get up but Jacques’ hand on the back of his collar pushes him back down.

“What did you learn?” Jacques demands.

“What?” James tries to rise. His lover yanks him back down.

“Answer me. What did you learn? I want to make sure you really internalized this lesson.”

James squirms. It earns him a bonus slap.

“I need to tell you when I’m anxious,” he cries. “If I wait until it’s too late, there’s nothing that I can do. But if I tell you early…”

“But if you tell me early…” Jacques prompts.

“Then you can help me if I can’t calm myself down on my own.” James lets his head fall against the couch cushions. “That I’m allowed to ask for help if I can’t do it alone.”

“Good boy.” Jacques lets him up. He cradles James’ face and wipes away a tear with his thumb. “Go clean yourself up and then come back.”

“Yes, Jacques.” James does so, ruminating on the day. Day Three of his punishment is not going well. He washes his face and blows his nose. He needs to better. He _will_ do better.

* * *

Day Four is going okay.

“I’m worried about Harriett,” James admits. “I think she hates me.”

“Oh?” Jacques looks surprised at the admission, considering they had both been absorbed in their respective projects for the last two hours and neither had spoken. He talks James through it. Things don’t escalate. James gets a kiss and a “good boy” for his work.

Later, though, is another test.

“How about going to the mall?” Jacques suggests. “Let’s get out of the house. They’re having a big sale right now.”

James’ throat closes up. _That makes me anxious,_ he wants to say, but verbal ability has just been snatched from his throat.

“James?” Jacques prompts.

He tries to talk. He _tries_ but he can’t. Instead, he closes his eyes and tugs on the collar.

It’s like he just yanked open his airways. “I’m anxious about going to the mall,” he whispers.

“Why?” Jacques challenges.

“Crowds. Driving and parking. The noise.” He struggles through a deep breath. “How do I deal with it? I’ll drive – I’ll be fine driving, I think. We’ll just not worry about parking and park a little farther away from the entrance.”

“And the crowds? The noise?”

“Hold my hand,” James pleads. “Hold my hand and I’ll be fine.”

Jacques looks contemplative. “And if we get separated?”

Oh. That’s a possibility that he had not considered. “Umm… Do you have any suggestions?”

“You could call me.”

“Yes, Jacques. I’ll go somewhere quiet or at – at least somewhere out of the way and I’ll call you if I start getting worried.”

“Good.” Jacques smiles and kisses him very deeply.

They go to the mall at the train station. They shop and have a good time. James buys a new coat and Jacques gets a new pair of winter boots. James gets on the verge of panic once but works himself back down. They go back home and Jacques rides him into the mattress so violently that they slam the bedframe into the wall and dent it.

“Good boy, good boy,” Jacques repeats when he locks a still unsatisfied James back up.

No, he _is_ satisfied, just not physically. Day Four was a success.

* * *

“We need to deal with the hand thing.”

James sets aside his book, confused. He is sitting in Jacques’ lap on the couch, as is expected of him. “I – I’m not sure what you’re talking about?”

“How this all started. Putting my hand over your mouth.”

“Oh.” James twists his fingers together. “That makes me anxious.”

“I know. And we should do something about that. It’s a small enough trigger that I think we can work on and I will not let that _motherfucker_ have the final satisfaction of giving you this lasting pain.”

“Wh-Why, though? It – it’s not going to come up much, I mean, are you even going to do it again?”

Jacques does it. Very briefly, just a light touch before his hand is gone.

James’ heartbeat skyrockets to the goddamn moon. “J-Jacques-”

“You can’t avoid things,” Jacques reiterates. “Don’t avoid this.”

His tone of voice is different than before. More disappointed. He – he’s _disappointed_ in James. To his horror, tears burn the corners of his eyes. He’d been doing so well! He thought he was making lots of progress but Jacques was still upset with him!

“Oh, dear…” Jacques touches his shoulder when James really starts crying. “Check in with me.”

“G-Green,” James cries. “I’m upset but I – I’m fine…”

“Are you sure? Am I allowed to punish you, then?”

James nods. “Yes.”

Jacques’ look of pity hardens. “I’m going to go hard on you, you understand. And,” he sighs. “I’m going to try something. On my lap, please.”

“Yes, Jacques.” James does as he is told, as he has done a couple of times before. It is different this time, though: Jacques takes one of James’ hands and puts it on his own knee.

“Let go if you need me to stop,” he orders. “No need to count this time.”

“What – mmph?” James bucks at the familiar awful sensation of a hand over his mouth. But it’s quickly eclipsed by a hearty spank right on his tender ass.

Then another. And another, harder. Then Jacques takes a break to coo at him and adjust his grip on his mouth. It’s getting easier to breathe between blows.

He slips into that wonderful headspace after the fourth smack. Five happens, then six, and Jacques keeps on going. James doesn’t let go of Jacques’ knee. It hurts but it’s punishment and it’s clearing his head.

Seven, eight, nine, ten, and Jacques keeps going even though James is squirming and sobbing behind his makeshift gag. Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and finally fifteen.

“Dear, dear…” Jacques rolls him over and releases him. He holds James and comforts him. “Check in, talk to me if you can.”

“Green,” James rasps. He’s oddly calm despite bawling his eyes out. “It hurts, Jacques, it _hurts…”_

“Yes, I know baby, I know.” Jacques strokes his hair and kisses his cheek. “I’m proud of you, I’m so proud of you, you’re doing so good sweetheart…”

James calms down again fast. He’s getting better at it.

Jacques lets him lounge in his lap for another hour, whispers affirmations to him.

Day Five ends with James bound to the bedframe and squirming, begging Jacques to let him finish, but the only finish he earns is Jacques locking him back up while he pleads and cries.

* * *

Day Six goes better. Not great, but better.

* * *

James doesn’t even know what he’s panicking about.

He just knows that he’s being very, very bad.

The master bedroom closet is his preferred place to hide while he rides out a particularly nasty panic attack. He usually goes behind Jacques’ luggage set and wraps himself in one of Jacques’ old hoodies while he shivers and shakes.

Except he’s not supposed to do that right now. He’s supposed to go to Jacques, he’s supposed to try to work on it instead of letting it overwhelm him, and above all he is _not_ allowed to hide.

He lets himself wallow in the anxiety and fear, curled up in the corner. He doesn’t hear Jacques calling for him.

The closet door opens.

“I’m sorry!” James cries. “I’m sorry, Jacques, I – I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I know I’m not supposed to hide, but I – I-”

“Out.” Jacques’ voice is hard and flat. He is _furious._

James wipes his face with his sleeve (another forbidden thing, he’s just really racking it up, huh?) and crawls out of the closet to kneel in a pathetic puddle at Jacques’ feet. He doesn’t need to be told to give Jacques his leash.

Jacques is silent for several minutes, twisting the golden chain in his hand. The silence is begging James to be broken.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Shut up!” Jacques snaps. He yanks hard on the leash. “Are you fucking _allowed_ to apologize for being upset?”

“No.”

“Are you fucking _allowed_ to hide when you have a panic attack?”

“No.” James rubs his eyes.

“Are you fucking _allowed_ to rub your eyes when you’re crying?”

Oops. James drops his hand real fast. “No.”

Jacques paces some more. Seething and frustrated. Disappointed. He seems to come to a decision.

“Up,” he orders with a harsh yank. “Bed. Naked. Now.”

“Yes, Jacques.” James obeys. He reluctantly submits to Jacques tying a blindfold over his eyes. Not his favorite. Jacques maneuvers him so he’s sitting with his back against Jacques’ chest, head against Jacques’ shoulder.

A low rumbling buzz starts up. James flinches even though nothing has touched him yet.

Jacques chuckles and presses a vibrator to James’ cage. The sensation makes him gasp and throw his head back.

With the blindfold on, James has no idea when Jacques is going to pull back or when he’s going to cruelly hold the vibrator against him again. He squirms at every little sound, flinches when Jacques waits a long time.

Being hard is so uncomfortable while restrained like this. James keens.

“Jacques, please, I – I’m going to-”

“You’re going to _what?”_ He asks. “Remember your rules.”

Oh shit. He is _not_ allowed to finish. Jacques has _not_ given him permission.

“Too strong, too strong,” he begs. “I’m too close, too close-”

“You’d better control yourself,” Jacques warns.

“I can’t! I can’t!”

“Yes you can!” Jacques gives him a brief reprieve. “Stop it with that _I can’t_ bullshit! Do it, or else!” He smacks James’ thigh. “That’s how this whole fucking thing started, with you whining that you couldn’t! You _can,_ okay? Stop underestimating yourself and just give yourself permission to be confident! Give yourself permission to fucking succeed, you hear me?”

James whimpers.

“I _said,_ do you understand?”

“Y-Yes, Jacques.”

“Good.” Jacques turns the vibrator back on to the highest setting.

That makes his resolve tank immediately. It _hurts_ but it’s so _good_ and James is close, close, close, but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t-

Except that he does. Orgasming while still locked up is the least satisfying thing he’s ever experienced. His toes prickle. His back arches against Jacques’ chest and he begs for mercy, for forgiveness.

Jacques does not let up on the agony. James sees white and starts struggling, screaming for him to stop.

But he doesn’t safeword. So Jacques doesn’t stop.

Finally. Finally, after what seems like an hour of ruthless torment (but was probably just a minute), Jacques turns his punishment off and shoves him face-first onto the bedspread, blindfold still on.

“What the _fuck,”_ he snarls. James feels him get up off the bed, hears footsteps and rummaging. “Don’t move. I can’t _believe_ you.”

James stays face down, ass up, breathing hard and not daring to speak.

An unfamiliar sensation against his upper thighs. Like the tip of a pencil or a knife tracing along the skin of his legs. James shivers and frowns to himself. Confusing; the object, whatever it is, moves away.

_Whap!_

Searing pain erupts in a tight line across his butt. James shrieks. He doesn’t dare try to rise or move away, he just fists his hands in the quilt and arches his back even more.

“Repeat after me.” Jacques swishes the light cane against his hand. _Thwip. Thwip. Thwip._ A warning.

 _He’s caning me,_ James realizes, _oh shit oh shit, I told him he could do this as an extreme punishment if I’d really messed up_.

“Yes, Jacques.”

“I will not disobey Jacques again.”

James whimpers. “I w-will not disobey Jacques again,” he dutifully repeats.

 _Whap!_ Another hit.

“I will not apologize for getting upset.”

“I w-will not apologize for – for getting upset,” James sobs. These are specific. He’s done a lot wrong. There will be a _lot_ of punishment. “Jacques, p-please-”

 _Whap!_ This one is harder and lingers.

“I will let myself I cry when I need to.”

“I will let my – myself I cry when I need to.”

“Good.” _Whap!_ “I will not disobey Jacques.”

 _Again? Didn’t I already say this one?_ James hesitates and earns another hit for his rebellion. “I will not disobey Jacques!” he blurts.

 _Whap!_ “I will tell Jacques _immediately_ if I’m panicking.”

“I will tell Jacques immediately if – if I’m panicking.”

 _Whap!_ “I will not hide during a panic attack.”

Warmth spreads along his backside. This _hurts._ This is _torture._ “Jacques, p-please, I’ve had enough-”

Another two brutal hits. Then there’s a warm hand on his butt, tracing lines and patterns and welts. It amplifies the pain that had faded slightly, shoving it to the forefront and making James squeal.

“You’ve _had enough?”_ Jacques is quietly livid. “Oh no you fucking haven’t. I’ll show you enough.” He briefly softens. “You remember your safeword? Tell me it so I know you can talk.”

James nods. “Red,” he dutifully whimpers.

“Good. Now repeat: I will not hide during a panic attack.”

“I will not h-hide during a – during a panic attack,” James manages. “I’m sorry-”

 _Whap!_ “I will _not_ apologize!” Jacques yells.

“I will not apologize!”

The next hit takes ages and knocks the breath out of James when it impacts. It lingers until he feels surrender shudder up his spine, letting his torso slump even further.

_Ow, ow, ow-_

“I will not finish without permission.”

“I will not finish without permission!”

He wails at the next two vicious hits, then Jacques’ hand is painfully soothing him again. “I will not disobey Jacques again.”

“I will not disobey Jacques again.”

No next hit comes. James gasps with relief.

“I will not disobey Jacques.” Jacques repeats again.

“I will not disobey Jacques,” James echoes.

He gets rewarded with a gentle kiss to his abused skin.

“Good boy.” Jacques removes the blindfold and strong hands on his hips pull James up to sitting. He lets James clutch at him and sob into his chest. “Good boy, good, good…”

He lets him cry for a long time, soothing him and kissing his cheek, his neck. “You take punishment so well,” he praises. “I’m so proud of you, so proud, you’re really making progress.” He puts a gentle hand to James’ flaming backside and the abused skin there heals slightly. Enough that the pain is no longer overwhelming and blistering, but leaving just enough to make that whole area achy and sore.

A reminder. More generous than he deserves.

Day Seven ends like this.

* * *

Day Eight. A panic attack sneaks up on him too late to stop, but at least Jacques believes him and doesn’t punish him for not saying anything earlier.

Day Nine. Nothing big, just little anxiety spikes throughout the whole day. James feels like he’s telling Jacques something every two minutes, but he gets rewarded for it. Jacques starts to look really worried at the frequency, though.

Day Ten. They go out again and James does very well.

* * *

Day Eleven, he gets a diversion. A bit of fun.

“You missed a spot on the back of the mantle,” Jacques says. He lazily puts his feet up on the coffee table.

This is the fifth time in five minutes that he’s critiqued something. James bites back embarrassment. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

He has to raise his arms a bit to reach the fireplace mantle with his feather duster. It makes the skirt of his too-short outfit obscenely rise up (could you even call it a skirt if it’s barely six inches long?). Jacques whistles in appreciation.

James flushes brightly and pulls down this ridiculous sexy maid costume.

 _Why do you even own this?_ He had asked earlier.

 _I have my reasons, now just put it on,_ Jacques had insisted.

“Sweep out the fireplace next,” Jacques suggests.

“Yes, sir.” James kneels with the handheld brush and dustpan.

“James,” Jacques warns. “Don’t bend your knees.”

“What?” He turns with a pleading glance. Hoping to sway his lover into mercy. “Jacques, please-” He swallows the rest of his words. Jacques’ glare makes his complaints die in his throat. “I mean, yes sir. Sorry, sir.”

He’s not wearing anything under this stupid outfit, so Jacques gets a _nice_ view as he bends over and cleans out the fireplace.

“What next, sir?” His face burns with humiliation.

Jacques hums. “Come here.”

James obeys and kneels at his feet. Jacques takes the end of his leash and twirls it between his fingers. Contemplative. “The kitchen floor needs to be mopped.”

“Yes, sir.” James goes to stand but is yanked back down.

“On your hands and knees,” Jacques stipulates. “Use the small scrubbing brush.”

“Yes, sir.”

Another yank down. “I’m not done,” Jacques hisses. “Don’t be a brat.”

“Yes, sir. S-Sorry, sir.”

Jacques traces the line of his throat with one finger. “Good boy. You’ll be doing it blindfolded.”

A protest rises to his lips, but James swallows it back down. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Jacques releases him. James waits. “You may stand up and get to work.”

“Yes, sir.” James squeaks as he gets a parting slap on his nearly-exposed ass.

Jacques lets him fill up the bucket and get his supplies before blindfolding him.

He honestly underestimated the difficulty of doing this chore without being able to see what he’s doing. He bumps into the cabinets too many times to count. His knees are aching and soaking wet by the time he finishes. He _knows_ that Jacques has been watching him in this embarrassing position.

“Hmph.”

James jumps. He hadn’t heard Jacques come up behind him. “I – I’m done, sir.”

“Are you?” Jacques challenges. James’ heart sinks. There’s a sharp tug on his leash. James awkwardly shuffles forward on his hands and knees. “You missed this spot.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” James dutifully scrubs until Jacques tugs again for him to stop.

“And this spot.”

James inwardly sighs. “Yes, sir. Sorry – mmph!”

Okay, so the “spot” that Jacques meant was actually his dick, not the floor. James chokes on it before remembering himself. He laps at Jacques like a kitten before putting him in his mouth again.

Not the best at this – the fangs make it a bit difficult.

However, James does have one advantage: no gag reflex. Jacques uses this to his benefit, thrusting forward into his throat. James tries to gasp but realizes he can’t, tries to pull back but realizes that Jacques is holding his collar so he can’t.

“Good boy.” Jacques gives him a moment of reprieve to gasp a few breaths. “You’re so good to me.”

Breaktime is over. James works hard and makes his husband finish with a groan. Most of the mess goes into James’ mouth, though of course he can’t get all of it. He swallows what he can. He’s not humiliated as much as he feels pleased.

A hand on the back of his neck. Jacques gently pushes his face to the floor and makes him lick up the rest until he’s satisfied.

“Good boy,” he repeats. “I should have brought this costume out sooner.”

“Yes, sir.” James feels his ears burning and resists the urge to wipe his mouth.

Jacques helps him stand and removes the blindfold. He kisses him and whispers more praise, though some of it is absolutely filthy and makes James frustrated in the best kind of way.

But he’s patient. He’s good.

* * *

Day Twelve begins with a gift.

“For you,” Jacques purrs, arranging a heavy weighted blanket on James’ lap. He also offers a book that James has never read by a mystery author he loves.

“Thank you!” James is delighted and pleased. A gift is a good sign. He smiles wide and Jacques grins at his display of happiness.

Day Twelve ends with James begging at the top of lungs, but Jacques still tuts disapprovingly and locks him back up.

* * *

Day Thirteen is an unlucky day.

Superstitious, James is always superstitious. He’s on edge for most of the day, riled up and anxious at nothing. It earns him a disappointed few minutes over Jacques’ knee while he gets a lecture about communication and working together.

Day Thirteen, James doesn’t beg but instead gasps and squirms and tries in vain to struggle when Jacques locks him back up.

“Soon,” Jacques promises. “You’re making progress.”

* * *

Day Fourteen, it’s James’ time for a gift.

He is so nervous about doing this. He’s done it before, and he was nervous then. But he has new tools now to handle it, better tools.

Also, he now knows his size in women’s lingerie. So that helps too.

“Jacques,” James calls out. _Confidence, confidence,_ he repeats to himself. “I have something for you.”

“Oh?” Jacques looks up from his phone. He gasps. He drops his phone.

Oxblood red was a difficult color to match, but James had found a set that nearly matched the color of the collar. Accents of luxurious gold.

He blushes. It’s also very revealing. He has the urge to wrap his arms around his exposed waist but resists it. No hiding.

Instead, he raises his chin and walks over to climb into Jacques’ lap. His husband puts a hand on his hip to steady him, fingering the delicate lace of the soft panties.

Jacques’ mouth is hanging open and his pupils are the size of plates. “I – I don’t-” he stammers.

“Kiss me,” James orders.

“Of course, of course-” Jacques kisses him like he’s handling a porcelain teacup.

“No, kiss me like you mean it,” James snaps. _Confidence, confidence, you’re the one in control. You’re always the one in control._ “Kiss me like you want me to fuck you.”

Jacques very obviously _wants,_ because he nearly knocks James off his lap with the force of his embrace, and it’s only Jacques’ strong hands on his backside that stop him from losing his balance. Jacques steadies him with one hand and fumbles for James’ collar with his other, retrieving the key tied there.

“You drive me insane,” he groans. “Fuck, James, you make me lose my damned mind and I don’t even mind, I don’t give a rat’s ass because when you do this-” He breaks off into another low groan. “When you do this – I can’t think right and I just – it’s just _you,_ it’s only you, who gives a single _shit_ about anything else? Darling, darling-”

James loses his head too trying to keep up. Jacques repositions them so James is sitting on the chair and Jacques is the one on top of him. He is swiftly unlocked and Jacques is riding him like nothing else in this world matters.

“I want to feel you all up inside me,” Jacques grumbles into his ear, into his mouth, into his neck as he keeps up a supernatural pace. “I want to _feel_ what this does to you, James, please-”

Like he was going to last long anyways – two weeks of chastity (minus one incredibly unsatisfying incident a week ago) plus his lover doing _this_ and being like _this._ James gasps and clutches Jacques’ shoulders as Jacques finishes too.

“Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart-” Jacques is low and still intense, stroking James’ hair, arm, hip.

“J-Jacques,” he manages.

Jacques starts giggling (an odd and slightly creepy sight) and buries his head in James’ shoulder. “I don’t deserve you!” He exclaims. “Holy fuck, you’re something else and – and I can’t _even!”_ He continues laughing, curled up on top of James.

He eventually calms down (after another breakneck round that leaves James’ head spinning).

James is not locked back up.

“You’re still being punished,” Jacques explains. “But I think we can do away with this for now.”

“Th-Thank you.” James kisses him again. Just because he can. “I – I’d better go clean up and change, I guess.”

“Absolutely not,” Jacques orders. “Not yet. I want to look at you a bit longer.”

“Jacques-”

“Sit on my lap,” Jacques orders. He winds the end of James’ leash around his hand. “Touch yourself.”

“J-Jacques-”

“No arguing.” Jacques tugs lightly. “Get started. Now. I want to see you finish again.”

“Y-You’re going to make a mess of me,” James protests.

“Perfect. You look good like that.” He runs a finger down one spot on James’ bare stomach that got a bit of mess. Raises his finger to James’ lips and makes him lick it off.

Holds eye contact. James’ face burns even more. He nods. “Yes, Jacques.”

* * *

Day Fifteen. Day Sixteen. Day Seventeen.

James is doing better.

* * *

He clears his throat and approaches Jacques, who is looking over some papers spread out over the kitchen table. “J-Jacques,” he stutters. His hands are shaking. He fists them in the hem of his sweater.

“Yes, dear?” Jacques gives him a challenging look.

“I – I-” James closes his eyes and takes a deep strong breath. “There are a few used bookstores in Norfield,” he starts, naming the next town over. “It’s about ten minutes by car. The – the bookstores are all having big sales tomorrow. I – I thought-” He has to break off to breathe again. “I w-want to go. C-Come with me?”

Jacques’ look of challenge is turning to one of surprise. The next town over. James has never been to the next town over – he has never even been beyond the outskirts of Bleston. Too nervous. Hates travelling, even just a little.

“Yes,” he slowly says. “I’d love to go. We can go get some tea afterwards.”

“S-Sounds good.”

Tomorrow comes too quickly.

James drives with shaking hands. Jacques keeps a firm grip on his leash. That helps. It reminds him that he’s not alone.

They get past the outskirts of Bleston, past the meagre suburbs and into the snowy fields. Farms in good weather, surviving despite the desolate rain. The highway is fairly quiet and empty. Jacques hums to fill the silence and he talks a little, asks about what kinds of books James is looking to buy.

“Otherwise you will spend literally hours in there,” he jokes.

“H-Hey, I’m not that bad!” James counters with a trembling laugh. “At least we already have a ton of books, so we don’t need that much. But one of the bookstores is rumored to have an extensive mystery section. And another has some old rare poetry collections.”

 _“You’re_ an old poetry collection.”

James takes one hand off the wheel to lightly swat Jacques’ shoulder. “Hey!”

“Because you – you’re pretty?” Jacques tries to salvage it. “And old? And – and like poetry.”

“Thanks ever so much, dear. So heartfelt.” James turns off the country highway into the downtown of Norfield. Much smaller town than Bleston with a quaint main street. He parks the car.

Jacques strokes his shoulder. “Are you okay?” He quietly asks.

James rests his head on the wheel. He nods. “I – I think I’m okay.”

“Good. Let’s go, then.” Jacques unclips his collar. Not cold enough out to wear a large scarf over it. James feels naked without it. He shivers and takes his husband’s offered hand to help him down.

They buy too many books and despite Jacques’ exasperated eyerolls, they do spend literal hours looking through bookstores. Jacques treats him to a lovely teahouse afterwards.

The drive home is better. But James still feels like he can breathe for the first time when they get back into Bleston. Anxious still, but manageable. Bearable with Jacques by his side.

He made it. He _did_ it.

* * *

“James, come here.” Jacques pats his lap. James sits. “Sweetheart, you have been nothing but good for me. And the other day, going outside of the city…” he smiles. “I was so impressed. I think we will continue working, but I see no need to continue punishing you.”

James’ heart leaps. Jacques was impressed with him.

No, scratch that, the more important thing: James is impressed with himself.

“Thank you, Jacques,” he quietly says.

“Here, let me-” Jacques reaches for James’ collar and goes to take it off.

“No!” James flinches back.

“No?”

“No, please…” James shrugs. “I – I don’t know, I kind of like it now.” He runs his thumb over the sturdy leather and soft lace. “I do like wearing it.”

Jacques looks confused and surprised. “Okay…” He frowns to himself. “But you can’t wear it twenty-four-seven, dear.”

“But I like wearing it!” James protests. He’s blushing but they’ve gone far enough into their relationship that sometimes honesty just bursts forth from him. “I – I don’t know, Jacques.”

“Well…” Jacques trails off again. He ends up smiling. “I’ll figure something out.”

* * *

“Dear, I have a gift for you!” Jacques calls out.

“Coming!” James trots down the stairs.

Jacques is waiting for him at the bottom with something held behind his back. “Turn around and close your eyes,” he orders.

“Yes, Jacques.” James does so.

The collar and leash he’s wearing is unbuckled.

“Shh, just trust me,” Jacques coos when James makes a noise of protest.

The leather is replaced with something smoother and smaller. Pearls, from the feel. Jacques fiddles with the back, muttering frustrated curses to himself.

“There!” He steps back. “Damn tiny lock. But I got it now.”

James feels the necklace. It’s mostly pearls with an o-ring at the front and what feels like a tiny padlock on the back.

“You liked the collar,” Jacques explains. “There are alternatives to leather. Less intense and more discreet. And it locks, so you know, kind of the same effect.”

“Thank you, Jacques. I like it.” James smiles to himself.

“I knew you would!” His husband hugs him and twirls him around. Sets him back down on his feet and kisses him like he means it. He always means it.

“Love you,” he whispers. Like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear, like he doesn’t _need_ anyone else to hear. “Love you, love you…”


End file.
